


Come out from the cold

by TetrodotoxinB



Series: Bad Things Bingo 2018 [8]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bad Things Happen Bingo, Bucky Barnes always knows which way is up, Consensual medical procedures, Identity, Memory, Minor Medical Procedures, Square filled: Neglect/Abandonment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-25 11:12:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15639573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TetrodotoxinB/pseuds/TetrodotoxinB
Summary: The Asset awakes alone in his cryostatis pod.





	Come out from the cold

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for the beta Soro!

The tingling comes first. Little bolts of electricity that tickle and itch and make his muscles twitch. It’s worst part — his body proclaiming its continued existence even while the ice holds him, his chest still immobile though his body screams for oxygen. Everything burns as the ice melts away and the agony in his chest builds and builds until tears form in the corners of his eyes only to freeze before ever falling. His heart beats in an agonizing and futile arrhythmia, each beat punctuated by the way that the ice crystals pull and tear in their sluggish movement through his heart and veins.

There’s no thought. His brain, like much of his torso, is still too frozen. Rational thought is pushed aside so that what little brain power he has can be devoted to basic functioning. All he has are the alarms of mortality — hypoxia, hypothermia, hunger, thirst. 

But something tells him it should be over be over by now. The sense memory of melting screams _wrong wrong wrong wrong_ because it never goes on like this. The warming is always brutal but quick. But now the pain comes only in small waves, never enough to complete the process. Never enough to free him. 

He is frozen and even though his heart beats weakly in his chest, he’s still too stiff to draw breath. Eventually exhaustion wins out over fear and he falls unconscious.

*****

The next time that awareness comes to him, he can open his eyes and move his fingers. It isn’t much, but each twitch breaks more and more of him free from the ice. Each movement warms him and his blood begins to flow in his veins more freely.

A sharp movement, a stretch, and his chest cracks, a sound like a glacier calving ringing in his ears. The air is cold in his lungs, but it’s cleansing. Each breath is crisp and bright, feeding his body and sharpening his awareness.

The Asset is in his cryogenic storage chamber. He uses a hand to clear the frost from the viewing window of the pod. His eyes take a moment to adjust to the near absolute dark of the room. No lights or equipment are on, and no one is about. 

The Asset thinks for a moment — collecting, reviewing, processing data. He comes to a conclusion. There has been a malfunction. The temperature in his stasis pod is above what is required to keep him frozen. He hazards a guess that this is more than just a single malfunction. The entire base is likely affected. 

The Asset twists and presses an ear to the viewing window. But there is nothing to hear, not even the background hum of electricity. That knowledge makes his heartbeat and respiration seem loud in his ears, especially in this confined space.

A quick inventory suggests multiple things. First and foremost, he is in desperate need of electrolytes and rehydration. Secondly, he requires nutrition in the near future. Finally, if he is to escape — his primary goal he remembers, though he isn’t quite sure why — then this would be the optimal time to carry out that objective.

Using his metal hand, the Asset begins force open the door. Obvious points of weakness in the pod, such as welds and hinges, become his target. Eventually he weakens the casing to the point that he is able to bend the metal out, creating a space large enough to reach his arm through and disengage the locking mechanism. 

He is free.

But he is significantly weakened and after only a few steps, the Asset collapses to the floor. Electrolytes, hydration, nutrition. 

All of the medical equipment that is part of his regular maintenance is nearby. If pressed, the Asset would be unable to articulate how to complete his care after defrosting, but the routine is ingrained in him. He does not need be conscious of the steps to complete them, only to make it to the storage cabinets and gather the necessary equipment. 

His left hand is shaking, though the Asset realizes that this is psychosomatic as his metal arm and hand cannot become tired. But the shaking combined with his lack of experience with placing IVs, especially on himself, means that it is only on the fourth attempt that he finds a vein, blood backing up into the tubing and indicating success. He quickly secures the line and connects the fluids, the bags hung on an IV stand. 

He is tired and will need to rest in order to be functional if he plans to complete his mission objective of escape. But he pushes through the exhaustion and gathers the supplies he needs to complete the nutrition related maintenance. 

It takes a minute to find a can-opener for the tins of formula, but once open it is easy to fill the bolus and hang it on the IV stand with the fluids. The feeding tube he pushes into his nose, advancing it until it is in his stomach, the pain of its insertion no longer bothersome after so many repetitions. He tapes the end of the tubing to his cheek and connects it to the bolus. Then, maintenance complete, he slides to the floor and promptly falls asleep sitting up.

*****

He has to piss. The needs of his body pull him from a deep sleep and he almost resents it. His handlers were hardly contentious of his exhaustion so long as his functionality wasn’t compromised, and the Asset hasn’t slept this long at any point that he can remember, always being shaken or kicked awake after less than an hour.

He feels rested and… different. He knows that he is the Asset, but he is also something, potentially _someone_ , else. It is a new and not entirely unpleasant feeling. He resolves to sleep again when he is in a more secure location.

But wakefulness also makes his head throb. He staggers to his feet and assesses. The IV bag and formula bolus are empty. Quickly he connects the IV tubing to the second bag and opens another can of formula. The stand rolls, a bent caster thumping loudly against the concrete floor in the otherwise silent building, and the Asset drags it with him to the mop sink where he relieves himself. 

His immediate needs have been met, and though maintenance is not yet complete, he is functional enough to begin preparations for his mission. He drags the clattering stand with him as he pushes through the medical bay doors. 

The Asset freezes.

An array of equipment stands in the center of the room around the Chair. The Asset is familiar with this device and he will do anything to avoid it, but usually he is subjected to it before or during maintenance when he is incapable of resistance. He considers continuing on in his search for mission essential equipment, however the allure of destroying it stalls him. For a moment he stands, staring blankly at the machinery, his mind circling. The desired course of action comes to him after only a moment and flexing his metal hand to recalibrate, he strides purposefully across the room, the IV pole clattering in his wake. 

The delicate circuitry and the bundles of colored wiring are easily destroyed. That alone would be enough to render the Chair inert, but the Asset does not feel that this is sufficient. He breaks the halo from the frame of the Chair and then twists the metal into something that seems irreparable. From there he rips the paneling from the back of the Chair and tears out the electrical components. The monitors and arrays that are attached to the Chair are summarily torn from the mounting brackets and hurled across the room to shatter against the far wall. It is incredibly satisfying for reasons that the Asset cannot begin to define. 

When he is done, the Asset surveys his work. It is sufficient that, should this escape mission fail, his handlers will require several months to complete repairs. That time would afford him significant opportunity during which his escape plans cannot be taken from him which greatly increases his chances of success. 

He moves on again, out into a hallway, and begins scouting for the weapons locker. Whether by muscle memory or simple luck, he finds what he is searching not far down the corridor. His increased heart rate from the destructive detour he took means that the second IV bag is nearly empty, and he has no compunction about tearing the tubing from his hand to facilitate his search. The bolus of formula he disconnects as well, though he leaves the tubing in place. Without cryo sleep on the immediate horizon, he’ll need to eat again and it seems expedient to leave the internal tube so long as it remains functional. Something tells the Asset that the tube isn’t the only way to obtain nutritional support, but that information does not readily present itself, and ultimately it is secondary to his immediate needs — weapons, ammunition, warmer clothing, and transportation.

Before long, the Asset has acquired a cart and loaded it with maintenance supplies, weapons, ammunition, clothing, and other miscellaneous items. He loads all of it into an old truck which he hotwires. It turns over on the first try, but coughs out several large clouds of black smoke before idling quietly. 

The Asset holds a map as he sits in the driver’s seat. The names of the places mean nothing to him and he is uneasy about this step in his escape. The parameters of the mission did not specify how or to where he should be escaping. He folds the map and tucks it carefully into the glovebox. The needle of the compass that sits beside him in the passenger’s seat vibrates with the low rumbling of the truck. The Asset picks it up and stares at it. 

West. 

The Asset should go west.

He sets the compass back in the seat, pushes in the clutch, and throws the shifter into first gear. It grinds all the way down and for a moment the Asset thinks of the old grocery truck that Mr. Maloney drove until the transmission broke spilling red fluid onto the pavement below. 

He blinks. The thought is confusing and unrelated to the mission but even so it sits warm and comforting in his belly. This bears further review but for the moment he eases off the clutch and gives the truck a little gas. It lurches uncomfortably, but evens out with a little push of the gas pedal. 

Once out of the base the deep darkness changes to the dim twilight of winter near the Arctic Circle. The flash of a stubborn smile and flaxen hair flashes through his mind as the midnight sun glints off of several stalks of hardy grass that stick up through the snow. He pushes the gas pedal a little harder, certain that he has chosen the right direction towards home.


End file.
